


The Rules of Courtly Love

by LyssGreen



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: And he falls HARD, Angst, Courtly Love, Everyone is a Bisexual Bother including the Author, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier knows these rules, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, and is slowly seeing himself in them as he falls for Geralt, just a little, just enough for Geralt to be scared for Jaskier, mostly - Freeform, no beta we die like witchers, standard shippy things, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyssGreen/pseuds/LyssGreen
Summary: Nobel's have many rules associated with love and how one behaves while in love. Many of them are ridiculous - Jaskier knows this. Many of them also have their merits - Jaskier also knows this. He also knows that he wants a certain Witcher and the romance of these Courtly Love rules find their way into their little developing relationshipOrJust another story of these two idiots being oblivious and pining for eachother over the years, until it reaches a breaking point. (featuring Jaskier reassuring Geralt he deserves love because damnnit I love the soft bois)Edit 05/03/20 - now spell checked - I hope I didn't miss anything.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 331
Collections: Best Geralt





	The Rules of Courtly Love

**Author's Note:**

> I was meant to be doing research for my essay on Arthurian Romance and chivalry and courtly love and then this happened.  
> There's actually 31 rules of courtly love, this is only a handful - there were a few more I considered which could work but I settled with these ones.  
> Not beta'd, any mistakes are my own and I'm very sorry, it's 2AM, there may be mistakes.  
> 05/03/20 Edit: I think I've gotten all of the spelling mistakes now - feel free to tell me if I haven't (and I still haven't finished that essay)

****

** Boys do not love until they reach the age of maturity. **

Jaskier was only eighteen when he met Geralt for the first time, but for his youth he wasn’t completely inexperienced. He had done his time at university already, granted early access beyond his years thanks to his family name (and that was the last time he had used his family name to sway circumstances in his favour). So yes he had already lusted after men and women alike, why be picky on such a small thing as gender? What did it matter what was between their legs, not when they would always sing oh so sweetly once it was Jaskier between their legs.

Even if it did get him in trouble sometimes. Okay, often.

So it wouldn’t be wrong to say it was impulsiveness and lust that drove him to approach a Witcher in the corner of a tavern at the edge of the world and flirt shamelessly. He followed after without much rational thought and let Geralt lead him around.

At some point in the next few years however it stopped being pure lust that drove him to follow Geralt. Nor was it for the sake of his music, as much as Jaskier claimed it to be – because yes it was an advantage to have a good muse but at some point the number of poems written in secret about the molten gold of Geralt’s eyes had overtaken the ballads of monster hunts. Those poems were his alone however, and there only came to be more and more with each passing season.

****

** No one should be deprived of love without the very best of reasons. **

To say Geralt was a bit repressed would be putting it lightly. The man was awful at showing any form of emotion or accepting any emotion shown to him. He couldn’t even accept that Jaskier was a _friend_ for goodness sake! He’d much rather deny that he liked the Bard, and in turn pretend that Jaskier didn’t like him. Geralt had never said it in so many words but Jaskier could tell sometimes that Geralt’s prickly nature wasn’t just because he hated people.

No, it was also because Geralt was unused to people trying to care. Jaskier didn’t know how Witchers were raised but from what he had seen he was willing to bet that they weren’t exactly given a loving and nurturing childhood. He could see it in the way Geralt used to flinch awfully whenever Jaskier touched him casually, even now nine years on Geralt tensed beneath Jaskier’s soft touches whenever he tended the witcher’s wounds or was trying to work out a particularly stubborn knot from the white hair. The witcher’s flinching and tensing didn’t deter Jaskier though, instead he had strived to continue, redouble his efforts to get Geralt used to being wanted and being touched outside of violence and paid for company.

Tonight they were close, tonight Jaskier was asking a favour and Geralt was in the bath covered in horrid ick.

“Now now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night guarding your very best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be!” He strolled away to dry off his hands, wet from the bathwater he had just thrown over Geralt and likely still tainted by Selkiemore guts - he'd hate to know how much guts he had had under his fingernails since meeting Geralt.

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh, oh really? So you normally let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?” Geralt turned to glare but Jaskier wasn’t deterred, “Yeah, oh yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Geralt continued to glare as Jaskier cheerily spoke about the banquet to come.

“I’m not killing anyone, not over the petty squabbles of men.”

“Yes, yes,” He rolled his eyes fondly, “You never get involved – except you do, all the time.” _Because you’re a good man_ , went unspoken. “Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous. Actually, I’ve always wanted to know – do witcher’s ever retire?” _Will you ever get to take a break?_

“Yeah. When they get slow and get killed.” Geralt’s words were dry as he tilted his head up at Jaskier. There was a distinct pain flaring in Jaskier’s chest at that flat tone, at how Geralt had seemingly accepted that that was how he was going to go, he’d slow and get killed one day – no happy ending.

“Oh come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster hunting nonsense is over with?”

“I want nothing.”

Jaskier had to look down at his nails to hide the grimace he felt coming on, away from the bland look on Geralt’s face, from the way he had accepted that this was all there was for him. He forced a half smile and pushed false cheer into his words.

“Well, who knows! Maybe someone out there will want you.” He knelt down, leaning against the edge of the tub, pouting playfully, ignoring the part of his brain that longed to say ‘me, I want you’.

Geralt looked down, averting his eyes away, “I need no one, and the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet, here we are.”

Geralt hummed lowly as an answer.

Jaskier cursed whoever it was that made Geralt so closed off, so believing that he didn’t deserve happiness, deserve a happy ending, deserve someone, deserve love.

****

** A true lover does not desire to embrace in love except his beloved. **

Even Jaskier would admit that for most of his life his - shall we call them ‘ _sleeping habits_ ’ - could be described as walking the line of straight out slutty. Not necessarily for a lack of standards or of an overwhelming lust. No, he would just visit a brothel if sex was all he wanted.

What Jaskier chased was romance, falling in and out of ‘ _love_ ’ more often than he could count – and half the time being pulled out of it and the related trouble by a certain witcher. He longed for the romance, the love, all the pretense of courting and he loved people – he was a social creature.

And yet by the end of his first decade with Geralt he began to notice that he was falling into another’s bed far less often. He struggled to take pleasure in trysts that he knew would be fleeting, knowing even in the throes of lovemaking that this wasn’t really where he wanted to be – who he wanted to be with.

He realised he wasn’t falling in and out of love, whatever he had felt before it wasn’t true love. Nights spent with another were just a balm that didn’t soothe the root cause – the cause being that he already did love. And he didn’t want people who weren’t his love.

So he just stopped sleeping with others. If Geralt noticed it he didn’t question Jaskier further.

** Every lover regularly turns pale in the presence of his beloved. **

They had been separated over the winter season and were due to meet in small town, a crossroads town which only really sprung up because of the travellers passing through constantly. Jaskier had just finished his residency at Oxenfurt as a guest lecturer for the winter semester and he knew Geralt would be only a few days away, returning to meet Jaskier after his stint in Kaer Mohren with the other witchers. It had become a routine that Jaskier both dreaded and came to anticipate excitedly. He hated to see Geralt go, they always split ways at these crossroads as well. And yet Geralt was a constant and he would then spend his whole winter looking forward to the day he would see the Witcher again – the day he saw him walk through those bar doors was probably the happiest day of the year. Perhaps that should be sad – that proof that he was pining so deeply. By now he had stopped denying that he was outright head over heels for the man.

Geralt wouldn’t be long, and usually Jaskier made a concentrated effort to stay out of trouble until his Witcher was here. He knew well enough that if Jaskier was injured or too tired or had caused too much trouble that Geralt would likely not give too much pause before leaving Jaskier behind and heading off without the bard in tow. He had to be at his peak when Geralt got there – desperate to prove that he could do this, another year on The Path.

But not this year. This year he wasn’t staying quiet. This year he wouldn’t stay out of trouble. Not when he heard the low mutterings of a group of three men at a nearby table.

“See that? The fucking bard is back. Waiting for his Witcher again. Year after damn year.”

“The Witcher’s fucking whore. He must bend right over for the beast.”

“Probably got him enchanted. Why else would he willingly lie with that monster.”

“Maybe he’s just perverted.”

“Who the fuck is so perverted to want a mutant’s cock up their-“

The man’s words were cut short by Jaskier slamming his tankard into the man’s jaw.

A tooth fell onto the table with a glob of bloodied spit.

Years with Geralt had made Jaskier stronger than he looked, and using the metal of the tankard to channel the blow only aided him.

Until the men got over their shock and quickly decided that the bard was in for it now.

Jaskier may have had some strength to him, but he wasn’t a fighter. He could duck out of the way of one drunk farmer. He struggled to jump back from a second. He couldn’t avoid a dagger digging into his gut. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back when he was thrown to the floor and kicked in the shin. He couldn’t resist when the man whose tooth he had knocked out yanked him by his collar until he was standing shakily, nose to nose.

He was stubborn enough to use his rapidly waning energy to spit a glob or crimson tinted spit into the man’s face.

“Whoreson! You’re in for it n-“

For the second time that night the drunk farmer was cut short by an impact to his jaw. Jaskier didn’t have the energy to see who had come to his aid, his eyes were getting heavy and there was a fog rapidly clouding his thoughts, a feeling of dizziness tugging at him. He stumbled back to lean against a table, a hand pressed to his stomach, and it was a long minute before he could look up to see his saviour.

White hair of an ethereal saviour, a celestial knight come to save him. Gold amber eyes that glowed in the dim tavern. His love.

“Geralt!” It came out as a breathy croak even as he felt the smile on his rapidly paling face. Blood was seeping between his fingers and he felt cold but it was Geralt so who cared? Who cared what happened now, this was the day he had been looking forward to all semester, this was it- this was-

He fell forward, only vaguely aware of gold and white and strong arms wrapping around him.

** When a lover suddenly catches sight of his beloved, his heart palpitates. **

He felt hot and cold and shivery and his heart was beating rabbit quick and the sound rung in his ears and made his head hurt and- oh, he was alive. Well that was a shock.

“Jaskier,” The voice was deep and low and nearby. Very nearby actually. Almost as if- “It’s okay, calm down.” A warm hand ran across his arm feather light.

He recognised the voice, of course he did, who else had that low timber. It vibrated against his back, a rumble passing from chest to chest. He opened his eyes, pained but spurred on by Geralt’s voice – because it was him.

Jaskier was laying back against Geralt’s chest, Geralt’s head was dipped down low until the tips of his white hair was brushing Jaskier’s cheeks, creating a curtain between them and the outside. His eyes glowed warmly in candle light even as the circles under his eyes looked darker than he had ever seen on the Witcher before.

“It’s you.” Jaskier found himself grinning up at the upside down vision of Geralt, feeling more than a bit giddy.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. Good job too, you'd have been fucked if I wasn't there – what were you thinking?”

“They were bein’ mean ‘bout you, called you a monst’r, c’lled y’, couldn’t let th’t h’ppen.” His words started to slur, just keeping his eyes open seeming to be too tiring.

Geralt made shushing sounds behind him, the strong arms still holding fast to Jaskier’s weak form. Maybe if Jaskier had been more awake he would have noticed that the heart beating against his back was far faster than a Witcher’s heart should normally beat. Jaskier was soundly asleep before he could appreciate the small fond smile that Geralt pressed down against Jaskier’s forehead.

** Real jealously always increases the feeling of love.**

It was normal for people make eyes at Jaskier as he danced around while he danced – it was, after all, part of the act. Waltz around, pirouette, strum with skilled fingers, wink at some besotted soul, sing directly to them, maybe flop down over their lap or on their table provocatively before continuing the act for some new bar patron - flirting got more money. It was simple. It was normal.

What wasn’t normal was the mood Geralt had been in recently.

Since Jaskier had been injured and Geralt had spent a week curled around him protectively in that inn, Geralt hadn’t been acting normal. He had become unnecessarily over protective, snarling at anyone who got too close to the bard. He hadn’t let Jaskier get off Roach and walk for over a month, even when his stomach had healed just fine, and then by night Geralt ensured all the blankets and both bedrolls were donated to Jaskier, leaving Geralt shivering and stubborn. In fights Geralt always had half an eye on Jaskier, even at the risk of letting himself get hurt instead – which had happened. Twice. Jaskier had tried to scold him for it but Geralt had just grunted,

Now a few months on they had just about made up for all the coin they had lost during Jaskier’s injured days. They had eaten through both of their supplies trying to afford suitable disinfectants and potion ingredients and healers and bandages, and the heavy warm cloak which had cost a fortune but Geralt had insisted Jaskier needed.

That was why they were now in Novigrad, if there was money to be made this was their best shot. A city this big had taverns a plenty for Jaskier to cycle between each night while Geralt searched for a contract – which he would have been more successful in if he would just allow Jaskier to do his job without watching over him every night. Tonight he was particularly annoyed, Jaskier could tell from the death glare that would make anyone else piss themselves – and it was almost always directed at whoever Jaskier was singing to at that time. By the half time of his set he had had enough.

He sauntered over, hips swaying, two tankards in hand, “Geralt, dear, we’ll make more money if you stop threatening to murder anyone within five feet of me.”

“I haven’t threatened anyone. I’ve been quiet.” He growled out, still looking unamused, now glaring behind Jaskier at something. Jaskier turned to see what – it was a young man Jaskier had been singing a ballad to earlier who had been blushing and looking rather taken aback – now he looked positively terrified as he was glared at by an angry Witcher. Jaskier raised his hand in a wave, Geralt growled and bared his teeth when the man made a move to return it. The young man scurried away out of sight.

“That right there is what I’m talking about,” Jaskier sighed, pushing one of the tankards of ale into Geralt’s palms, “You, my dear, do not have to say anything to threaten anyone – a fact that you fine well know.” Geralt grumbled lowly, “Look, I need to be near people to get money, they need to think I’m flirting with them, that I’m within their grasp – that’s how I make good tips and how we get to eat a hot meal every day. Now please, stop. I’m quite alright – no one is going to hurt me in Novigrad. I won’t be catching any more knives to the gut.” Jaskier tried to sound light hearted but the words drew a wounded sounding noise from Geralt.

“It’s not just you getting hurt.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well then, what is it?”

“Hmm.”

“Bard!” The innkeep’s shout popped the bubble the two had let themselves fall into, a space where one else had mattered. Both looked mildly annoyed that the moment was now gone.

“Act two begins.” Jaskier smiled, pushing his own half drunk ale to Geralt to finish – who took it with a pleased hum that meant thank you, “We’re finishing this conversation after I’m done.” He left no room for discussion in his tone before standing and grabbing his lute, spinning with a flourish, ready to begin the second half of his set.

** Good character alone makes any man worthy of love.**

“So?” Jaskier begun unbuttoning and unlacing his complicated doublet as soon as they had gotten back to their rented room, “I promised you we were finishing that discussion. Why are you worrying like a mother hen recently?” He started pulling at the laces of his sleeves, sparing a glance up to Geralt and noticing the Witcher was watching every movement of Jaskier’s long musicians fingers with a focus usually reserved for monster hunting. Jaskier resisted the urge to tilt his head curiously.

“Need to make sure no one hurts you again, you almost died last time.” Geralt was still watching Jaskier pulling at his many laces.

“Yes, yes, I know that, dear,” Geralt’s nose twitched at the endearment, interesting, Jaskier hummed, “But you said it wasn’t just that – what is it? What’s wrong?”

Geralt grimaced minutely, “It doesn’t matter.”

“If it’s stopping us both from doing our respective jobs then it most certainly does matter. Now, tell me.”

“You won’t like it.”

“Try me.” Jaskier was intrigued now.

Geralt took several deep breaths, he opened his mouth more than once without any sound coming out, Jaskier simply waited patiently.

“I don’t like you flirting.” The words sounded punched out of him, as if it was physically painful, “Don’t like other people looking at you like that.”

Jaskier did tilt his head curiously this time, his face was carefully schooled into impassiveness to not give away how hopeful he felt, “Are you…are you jealous?”

“Told you that you wouldn’t like it.” Geralt huffed, turning away, walking as far away to the other side of the room as he could.

“And why, pray tell, would I not like it?”

“Because you like flirting?” There was a real confusion to Geralt’s tone, “You like the attention. You don’t want my attention.”

Jaskier felt that pain that he always got whenever Geralt was hard on himself, “Oh, my dear, why do you think that?” He risked a step closer to the turned away Witcher.

“I’m not human. You don’t want a Witcher. Witcher’s don’t want other people.”

Jaskier watched Geralt’s shoulders raise as he tensed, bracing himself for a rejection that Jaskier knew he would never ever give. He could never reject Geralt, not his Witcher.

“ _Good character alone makes a man worthy of love_.” Jaskier took another step, carefully closing the distance between them – only a few feet but it felt like an ocean. He only wanted to calm Geralt but if he moved too fast now Geralt would spook, like a frightened horse.

“What?”

“It’s a rule, the rules of Courtly Love. It’s used by the nobles. Good character alone makes a man worthy of love, makes _you_ worthy, my dear.”

“But I’m not-“

“You-,” Jaskier raised his volume, not allowing Geralt to get any form of self deprecating comment out, “You, Geralt, are the best man of the best character that I have ever had the fortune of meeting.” Geralt looked slightly over his shoulder, just a sidelong glance, wanting to check if it’s the truth, Jaskier took it as a queue to take another step. Just two more. “Most of them are bullshit, I admit. The nobles aren’t right about everything – about very much at all actually, but they’re right about this. I don’t care if you’re human, no more than you being a man puts me off. I care about you, no matter what you think of yourself. ‘ _No one should be deprived of love without the very best of reasons’_ ,” He parroted more rules as he cleared the last distance separating them, “I write so many poems for you, ‘ _A true lover is constantly and without intermission possessed by the thought of his beloved’,_ I’ve always wanted you, jealousy and all. ‘ _Real jealousy always increases the feeling of love’._ Please look at me.” Jaskier set a gentle hand on Geralt’s back.

Geralt took a second, but he did turn. His face looked more conflicted than Jaskier had ever seen it. More drawn with emotion.

“ _Love can deny nothing to love.”_ Jaskier smiled in what he hopes is a reassuring way sets his hands on Geralt’s biceps.

“I’m your love?” Geralt’s voice was uncharacteristically small in their small room, a quiet whisper only for them.

“Who else ever could be, dear heart?” Jaskier smoothed back white hair behind his ear, thumb brushing along a scar over his eye, “Just you.”

Jaskier had imagined kissing Geralt countless times – there were even a few sonnets about it hidden deep in one of his notebooks. But of course his imagination didn’t live up to the real thing. All the longing and pining and artists imagination in the world couldn’t match the fire as Geralt’s stubble scratched against Jaskier’s clean shaven jaw, the feeling of insistent lips pushing, not demanding but desperate. The feeling of a tongue swiping across his bottom lip was almost enough to make him cry.

“Bed.” Jaskier just barely rasped out, voice low from lust. He tugged his very last lace binding his left sleeve and let the silver doublet fall off of his shoulders, slipping down and hitting the floor in a puddle. He saw the way Geralt’s throat bobbed as he watched.

“Wanted this for so long.” Geralt rumbled, scraping teeth over Jaskier’s newly exposed chest that was visible from the low neckline of his undershirt.

“Well then, dear heart, we have a lot of wasted time to make up for, don’t we?”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this whole thing in one sitting while listening to the new album from Joey Batey's (Jaskier) band The Amazing Devil - its great but I admit its giving me more inspiration and damnit I was meant to be doing an essay for university not writing these two idiots.  
> I do hope you all enjoyed, please tell me if you do - it'll cheer me up in my class which I will most definitely be very tired in since it's in like 7 hours.  
> Love ya all - Lyss <3


End file.
